


A New Ending

by orphan_account



Series: Undead!AU [2]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-13
Updated: 2012-08-13
Packaged: 2017-11-12 00:57:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Set before Generation Dead.</i>
</p><p> Bob has been dragged on holiday, half way across the world by his parents, and he really doesn't want to be there. He makes a friend in an older woman, who seems to be hiding a secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Ending

**Author's Note:**

> Again, this has been reposted from quite a while ago, so I do apologise for the grammatical errors and typos. This series began when I'd just started to write again, and I didn't really beta much at time.

"Ooh! Look at that! Isn't the scenery here beautiful? Gosh, I don't know why we waited so long before coming here...Robert? Robert, are you even listening to me?"

The blonde woman turned her head to look at the boy in the back seat. He had earphones plugged into his ears, small blasts of drum beats escaping every few seconds.

"ROBERT!" The woman yelled, reaching over from the passenger seat and pulling the wire of the earphones.

"OW! Mom! What the Hell?!" he complained, rubbing his ear.

"Robert Bryar, we are in the middle of the most beautiful countryside in the whole of Italy and you're listening to that noise again! If I catch you with those things in your ears again, I'm taking that damned contraption off you!"

"MOM!"

"Bob, do as your mother says," his father said from the drivers seat.

Bob huffed as he wrapped his earphones around his little, black, iPod nano and tucked it in the pocket of his hoody. He slid down a few inches in his seat, crossing his arms and staring out of the window.

He didn't even _want_ to come on this damned holiday. No, he'd been made to go. He'd much rather be back home, in Chicago, in his basement, beating the fuck out of that new drum kit he'd got for graduating junior high. He'd even offered to stay with his grandmother, but no, his mother had insisted he came to God damned Italy. Where it was too warm, and all people seemed to want to do was feed him.

And now he was here, stuck in this stupid rented car whilst his mother jabbered on about the landscape, cottages and some art gallery she was going to drag him to tomorrow.

-

Ok, so maybe Lucca wasn't _that_ bad, Bob reasoned with himself the next day as he lay on his bed in the hotel. At least he had his own room and didn't have to share with his parents. And the food wasn't so bad. He did love pizza after all, and some of these strange pastas were actually pretty good. He flipped open his cell phone, holding it in the air. Still no bars. Not that he was surprised, to be honest. Plus, there was no one he really felt the need to contact. Sure, he had some good friends back in Illinois, but no one that he felt he couldn't live without.

His mother found it strange that her fifteen year old soon would rather spend his time locked up in his basement with some wooden sticks in his hands that be out with his friends. Well, he wasn't really your average fifteen year old.

No, Bob liked being somewhat of a loner. He had friends who he hung out at gigs with, and friends he played in a jazz band with, and he was happy with that. He didn't have many school friends, but that didn't matter. He was pretty sure he wasn't going to go to high school anyway.

He sighed and let his phone drop onto the bed beside him. His parents were having breakfast in the hotel restaurant, so he had a few hours to himself.

Stretching out on the bed, he gave a yawn. Oh, what he would do for his drums right now. Or even a guitar. Heck, he'd settle for a God damned ukulele right about now.

Did little towns like this even have music stores?

He looked at his watch, before pulling himself upright. Might as well have a look, he thought.

-

He'd been walking for about fifteen minutes before he hit what he assumed was supposed to be the main street of the little town he was staying in.

As he walked along the small street, he couldn't help but notice people were so much friendlier here than back in Chicago. He accidently walked into another man because he was staring through an antique shop window.

"Sorry!" Bob stuttered, trying to steady himself.

"Nessun problema!"the man smiled, patting his back.

He stared after the man, before shaking his and continuing down the street. He smiled back as passersby greeted him with smiles and little waves. He was pretty sure there must be something in the water in this place, that made everyone so happy.

When he spied the little shop at the end of the street, his heart gave a little skip at the old rickety sign with a faded treble clef.

He picked up his pace towards the store, and came to an abrupt stop.

CLOSED.

He pressed his nose against the dirty window and looked inside. He could see the place had been empty for at least a few years. Inside all he could see was a few abandoned acoustic guitars and a snare drum.

He sighed and leaned back on his heels.

"Place has been closed for around ten years," a voice behind him said.

He jumped, startled. He turned to see a dark haired woman, standing right behind him, two brown paper bags cradled awkwardly in her arms. She smiled at him as he raised a hand to his chest.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," she laughed.

Bob shook his head and gave her a small smile. 

"You're American." He said, more of a statement than a question.

"I am indeed," she smiled. "New Jersey."

"Chicago." Bob smiled. "Can I, uh, help you?" He pointed to the brown bags she was struggling to hold.

"Huh? Oh, thank you!" she smiled, as Bob took the two bags from her arms. She shook her arms a little, stretching them. "I'm just up the hill a little," she smiled.

Bob nodded and walked alongside her.

"I'm Bob," he said, before realising how silly he sounded.

The lady smiled. "Linda."

"You, uh, on holiday here?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No, I moved her just under a year ago with my son." When she said those words, Bob noticed she gave a small shiver.

"And he's letting you carry these?" he laughed.

Linda gave a nervous laugh. "Ah yeah. He isn't very well, actually. We moved out here to get some peace, let him try and get a bit, uh, healthier."

Bob nodded. "Yeah, it seems like the States are going a bit crazy right now."

"Yeah, just a little."

As they walked up the small hill, Linda told Bob about moving to Italy to be closer to her sister and have more help looking after her ill son. She also questioned Bob on what was going on in the US, which he found rather unusual. It was easy enough to have a look on the internet, or, you know, read a paper, wasn't it?

"What about the uhm...differently biotic children?" she asked quietly as they reached a small cottage at the top of the hill.

Bob gave a little shrug. "They don't bother me, really. I kinda feel sorry for them."

Linda's eyes widened. "Really?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I mean, they didn't _ask_ to come back, did they? And now there's all this shit about them not being citizens, and how they shouldn't be allowed on the streets...it's just stupid."

The brunette gave him a large smile, as she opened the front door. "Come on in," she smiled.

As Bob entered the little cottage, he heard was sounded like hurried footsteps on the stairs.

"Your son?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow. Linda nodded.

"He uhm, doesn't really like company much."

"What about his cousins?"

She shook her head. "Nah, my Frankie is too much of a loner."

Sounds familiar, Bob thought.

"Would you like something to drink?" Linda asked, moving to the small kitchen, showing Bob where to drop the grocery bags.

He shook his head. "I should get back, my parents will be freaking out." He gave a small laugh.

Linda walked him to the door, and pointed at the hill. "You know how to get back into town?"

Bob nodded.

"Thanks for your help," she smiled, giving him a small hug that Bob found somewhat strange and comforting. "I really appreciate it."

"It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Iero." 

-

"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?" his mother was yelling as he walked into his room.

"How did you get in-?"

"NEVER MIND THAT! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ROBERT?!" 

Bob sighed. "I went for a walk, that's all." He pushed past her and fell onto his back on his bed.

As his mother continued her ranting, Bob zoned out, thinking about that little cottage on the hill.

-

There were only two days left of his nightmare of a holiday when Bob's mother decided she was taking him to have his haircut.

"Mom, who the Hell gets a haircut on holiday? In Italy?" he asked completely confounded. He looked to his father, across the breakfast table in the restaurant, who just shrugged and returned to trying to decipher the Italian newspaper he had grasped in his hands.

So not only had he been dragged around the countryside, been forced to drive to Rome in that tiny rental car, and been bullied into taking God only knows how many tourist walks, now he was being forced to have his hair cut.

Why couldn't his parents have just left him at home?

As his mother marched him down the street from the hotel, he jammed his hands in his pockets, grumbling to himself. His father had of course managed to worm his way out of this trip, and was currently doing some 'wine tasting' back at the hotel.

"I saw this lovely little barbers," his mother was yabbering away to him. "Unisex, I think. I told you to get that mop of hair cut before we even came here!"

"I like my hair this length!" he complained, running his hands through his fringe. It wasn't even _that_ long! It only reached to just below his eyes and behind his ears. He liked it.

His mother tutted, and he was sure he heard something along the lines of 'this generation' being muttered.

They soon reached a familiar street, and Bob smiled when he saw the old music store at the bottom of the hill. As he started to walk ahead of his mother, he felt himself being yanked back by his hood, almost strangling him.

"Here we go!" his mother cooed, dragging him backwards into a small barber shop.

As he coughed, pulling at the neck of his hooded top, he looked around the little store. There were only three barber chairs sat in front of one giant window that took up a whole wall.

The walls were decorated in paintings and photographs, some old and faded.

Bob sighed as he heard his mother ringing the bell on the small desk by the door. He heard a rustling before a familiar voice spoke.

"Well, well, look what the cat dragged in."

He turned to see Linda standing by a door at the back of the store, smiling at him. 

"Linda! Hi!" he smiled.

"Nice to see you again Bob," she smiled, walking over and pulling him into a friendly embrace.

"Ahem!" 

They both turned to his mother.

"Mom, this is Linda Iero. She's from Jersey!" he said gleefully.

"Barbera, Barbera Bryar," his mother said in a cold voice, offering her hand awkwardly.

"Lovely to meet you Mrs. Bryar," Linda smiled, shaking her hand. "You're son is quite the gentleman."

"Oh really?" she cocked an eyebrow at Bob, who just shrugged. "If you don't mind me asking, how do you know Robert?"

"Oh! I was struggling with my shopping a few days ago, and Bo- your son helped me out." Linda smiled at him again.

His mother nodded, lips pursed. Bob shook his head slightly. She just couldn't be polite to anyone, could she?

"So, how can I help you?" Linda asked cheerfully.

Bob pointed at his fringe. "She wants me to get rid of this."

"I am not the cat's mother, Robert! I've warned you about that!"

He sighed. "Ok, my MOTHER wants me to get rid of this."

Linda bit her lip, holding back a smile. "Well, I think I can take care of that...Mrs. Bryar, there's a little tea room across the street, I can take care of Bo-Robert while you have some coffee?" 

Bob stared at his mother. Please, please, please just go, he pleaded inwardly.

After a few seconds, his mother nodded. "I'll be back in half an hour." She pressed a kiss onto her sons forehead before turning on her heel.

"You're a hairdresser?" Bob asked as he spun himself around in the barbers chair.

"Mhhm." Linda said, kicking the chair to a stop. "Well, I used to be. I stopped working when I had Frankie, then after his father left I just done it part-time. When we moved out here, my sister offered me the job. She owns the place...well, her husband does," she winked.

"Please don't take away my fringe," Bob pouted as she started to spray water on his hair.

"Oh, don't worry, I know what I'm doing," she smiled.

Around fifteen minutes later Bob peered into the large mirror.

"What do you think?" Linda asked.

"It's awesome!" he laughed, tapping the top of the small faux hawk she'd styled.

"There, your hair is now short enough for your mom not to complain, and you can style it up when you want."

Bob nodded, impressed. He didn't even mind about the lack of fringe as he continued to touch the tip of the little blonde mohawk.

There was a small crash from the back of the store, through the door where Linda had came from.

"I'll be two seconds," she told him, face concerned.

As she left the room, Bob could hear hushed voices, and curiosity decided to get the better of him. He slid himself off the chair, and crept forward, peeking his head slightly through the door way.

He could see Linda, talking with a teenage boy, a quite a bit smaller than him. He had his back turned, but Bob noticed his skin was a sickly pale colour, almost grey. He had a nasty blue bruise-like marking on the back of his neck.

He whipped his head back before anyone could see him, and sat back in the chair.

A few minutes later, Linda returned. "Sorry love," she smiled. "Stupid alley cats." She waved her hand in the air.

Bob smiled and nodded. Alley cats. Sure.

-

He tried to make Linda take the money for the hair cut, but she refused, shooing him out of the store and making him promise to stop by and say goodbye before he left in two days time.

Bob agreed, before she pulled him into yet another hug. This woman sure likes cuddles, he thought to himself.

Of course his mother hated his hair, but he'd already ushered her half way back to the hotel before she could even think of complaining to Linda.

There was something he liked about her, and he wasn't sure. She was so different to most of the other older women in his life. 

All the women in his family were, well, like his mother. 

Linda was NOTHING like his mother.

No, Linda was more caring, friendly. The way she hugged him, was the way he felt a mother should hold a son, not the pushing and pulling way his mother did.

-

On his second last day, Bob wanted nothing more than to just lie in his bed. Of course, his mother had other ideas. Why couldn't she just leave him alone anyway?

As he was once again paraded around some small village a few miles from the hotel, he sighed, leaning against the bonnet of the car, watching his mother take an abundance of photographs of some statue of some Pope or another.

Well, at least within the next few days he'd be right back home in Illinois, sticks in hand, pissing off the neighbours once again.

As he smirked at the thought of Mr. Colton from next door complaining to his father once again, he heard a shout.

He turned to see a woman running towards him, hysterical, screaming in Italian.

He had no idea what she was yelling, but turned in the direction she was heading. He could see a small boy, chasing a ball onto a fairly busy road just a few feet away.

Without thinking, he started running towards the child, just as he could see an SUV making it way at a high speed along the concrete road.

He grabbed the little boy, shoving him to the side, just as the car was centimetres away.

He never heard his mother's screams, or the cries of the little boy and his mother. He never heard the cracking of his spine as his body slammed off the bonnet of the car, being tossed into the air before landing in a bloody heap by the side of the road.

He never saw the driver speed off without stopping, or his mother running to his side, screaming to his father.

No, Bob never saw or heard any of that.

Bob was dead.

-

It was dark. Really dark. And he felt kind of nauseous. He was pretty sure he was spinning. Like on a Waltzer, or sticky wall.

He tried to reach out his hand, but he couldn't see. He couldn't see his hands. He had hands before, right?

Yes, he was sure he had hands. And feet. And everything else a fifteen year old boy should have.

He was fifteen, right? Yeah, just out of junior high.

What was his name? Robert? He hated that name.

Bob. Yeah, he was Bob.

He tried to stretch, forgetting he had no body. Or did he? Where was he anyway?

Wasn't he supposed to be on holiday?

Oh yeah, Italy. 

Images started to spin, drums, hills, cows in fields, his 3rd birthday when he broke his wrist, scissors, hair, a boy with grey skin and a bruised neck.

He didn't like this. He had to find his way out of here.

He reached out again, or at least that's what it felt like he was doing. Well, if he was feeling.

He wasn't too sure anymore.

He had to find his body. How could he just lose it like that?! He needed that thing!

FOUND IT! He thought in triumph. Well, he was sure he had. 

He was laying flat back on a cold slab. Well, he thought it was cold, but that could just be him.

He tried to open his eyes, but they didn't want to work. He flexed his fingers and toes. Yup, still had all of them.

Ok, now to breathe.

No. Why wasn't he breathing? He tried to make his lungs work to no avail.

Oh shit. I'm dead, he thought. I'm actually dead.

But how could he feel? How could he-

Oh. Double shit, he thought. I've came back, haven't I?

He tried to move again, with a little more success than before. He pushed his eyes open, and stared at the grey ceiling. 

YES! He thought inwardly. Ok, now to sit up.

He slowly pushed himself upwards, taking not that he was very naked but for the sheet covering him up to his chest.

He heard some gasps and turned his head slowly to look at who he assumed was the coroner, standing by a desk in the corner, a look of terror on his face.

He opened his mouth, wanting to ask where his parents were, when he could go home. 

No words escaped his lips.

-

He was sitting on a hard wooden chair in the corner of the coroners private office. He could hear raised voices in the hallway, and for a second he thought he could hear his mother. 

He picked at the worn, faded sweatpants and hoody he'd been given, and tried to whistle to himself.  
Ah, he thought. No air. Well that sucked.

After a few minutes, the coroner returned in, still eyeing him cautiously. Bob tried to speak again, but all that came out was some garbled sounds. Hadn't they learned that in biology? That when the dead returned, sometimes their basic skills malfunctioned? Or something like that.

"Robert?" the old man said.

Bob nodded.

"The authorities will be coming to pick you up soon. They'll determine what's going to happen at your embassy."

Bob stared at him, confused. What did the embassy have to do with this? Back home, the dead kids got to stay with their parents, so why could he not just go home with them?

He shook his head and pointed at the door, grunting. 

"I don't...understand..." the coroner said in a thick Italian accent.

Bob pointed at himself, then at the door. Hadn't he heard his mother?

"I'm sorry, Robert," the coroner shook his head, before leaving the room once more.

Bob felt a panic rise in him. Where were his parents? They wouldn't just leave him here. Ok, he knew some parents could do that, but not his, right? Sure, they sucked at times, but they loved him no matter what...right?

-

He hung his head as he listened to the coroner give details of his death to a man in a suit. He figured it was someone from the embassy, here to claim him.

He heard something about a hit and run, and a little boy he apparently had saved. Well, at least something good have came out of his death, he almost smiled.

What he heard next, knocked him for six.

His parents were gone.

They'd flown out that day. Right after he'd come back.

It _had_ been his mother he'd heard in the hallway.

He clenched his fists as he heard the coroner whisper to the suited man.

His parents hadn't taken the news their son had returned from the dead too kindly. It wasn't natural, they'd said.

They'd just left him here, for the government to deal with.

He was going to be thrown into one of those homes for the dead, wasn't he? He thought to himself.

No way, he thought. He stood up, and pushed past the two men.

"Robert? Robert you can't leave," the coroner said, reaching out, but too afraid to touch him.

Bob grunted, and threw open the door, before picking up a pace and running as fast as his dead legs could take him.

-

"Nasty accident that one way," the lady with the large curlers in tutted in an accent, as Linda pulled a plastic covering over her hair.

"Che cosa?" Linda asked, walking to a sink to rinse her hands.

"Little American boy," the woman said, leaning back in the chair. "Mordi e fuggi - hit and run," she translated for her.

"What a shame," Linda answered, absent mindedly, before snapping her head around. "American? Do you know the name?"

"Non sono sicuro," the woman yawned. "Roberto? Something like that..."  
Linda felt her chest tighten as tears sprang to her eyes.

-

He wasn't sure how far he'd run, but he didn't recognise where he was. He was in a small wooded area, and it was getting dark. 

He was terrified.

What the Hell was he doing here? How could his parents just leave him like that? Ok, he knew he wasn't a perfect son or whatever, but he wasn't _that_ bad. How could they leave him in _Italy_ , on his own?

He felt a swell of emotion shake his body, and an anger fill his chest when he realised no tears would ever flow from his eyes again.

-

It had been about two weeks since Linda had heard about the car accident, and she couldn't shake off an uncomfortable feeling she had. At night, she would lie awake, staring out her bedroom window, something nagging at her but not quite sure what it was.

One day, she was putting some perming lotion into seperate bottles when she overheard one of the male customers speaking with her sister.

"Sì Lenora!" he cried. "One of those dead American bambini! On the outskirts of the town!"  
She turned to meet her sister's eyes.

"Benito," her sister asked, looking down at the older man. "What does the boy look like?"

"Capelli biondi," he replied, his hand whipping the air.

Linda stared at her sister, before grabbing her purse and making for the door.

-

It was getting dark when Linda reached the wooded area on the outskirts of town. She pulled out her cellphone before stepping out of her car. She felt a shiver run down her back as she walked through the woods, using her phone for lighting her way.

After what seemed like forever, she was about to turn back, when she heard footsteps.

She spun around, her heart beating fast. "Bob?" she called.

The footsteps stopped.

"Bob, is that you?" 

No answer.

"Bob, if it's you, it's me, Linda. I'm not going to hurt you...I know what's happened, it's ok. I'm here to help."

The only sound she could hear was her own heartbeat.

"Please Bob, I know you're confused. I can help you."

A few seconds later, she heard steps once more, and turned to see Bob step out from behind a tree. His face was scuffed with dirt, the faded sweat suit he was wearing ripped. His eyes looked worried, his face pleading.

"Bob," Linda breathed. "Are you ok?"

He shook his head.

"Do you remember me?"

He nodded, opening his mouth but closing it again.

"Can you speak?" she asked walking towards him.

He hung his head, shaking his.

"It's ok," she touched his shoulder. "It just takes a little time."

-

As they pulled up around the back of the little cottage, Bob looked at Linda, questioning. She turned and smiled at him, motioning to follow her.

"It's ok," she said, putting an arm around his shoulder as they made their way in the house.

"Mom! Where have you been?!" A voice called, accompanied by footsteps.

As Linda and Bob made their way into the kitchen, the small, grey skinned boy Bob had seen in the barbers ran into the room before freezing on the spot.

He eyed Bob carefully, taking in his appearance, the colour of his pale, grey skin.

"Frankie, this is Bob." Linda smiled.

Frank nodded. "Grocery guy."

"Bob, this is my son Frank...he's dead too."

Bob stared wide eyed at Frank.

It made sense now, why Frank had kept out of the way, in the back. He was dead.

"You can stay with us, can't he Frank?"

Frank nodded, still staring at Bob. "Can...can you talk yet?" he asked finally.

Bob shook his head, lowering his eyes.

"It's ok," Frank said, stepping forward. "It took me a while to get the hang of it again." He put a hand on Bob's shoulder.

"I probably have some clean sweats that would fit you," he smiled, motioning for Bob to follow him.

Bob turned to look at Linda, who had tears in her eyes but a smile on her lips, before he followed the small dead boy.

-

"Where are your parents?" Frank asked as he pulled open his closet and was throwing things to the floor. He turned to see Bob's answer, which was a strange motion with his hands.

"They're butterflies?"

Bob shook his head.

"Oh! They flew home?"

He nodded.

"What, and just left you here? On your own?" Frank sounded mad.

Bob nodded and shrugged.

"So you've been like, on your own, for how long now?"

Bob shrugged again and held up two fingers.

"Two days?" 

He shook his head.

"Two weeks?!"

He nodded.

Frank clenched his jaw, anger in his face. He continued to pull his closet apart, before handing a large   
Misfits t-shirt and black sweat pants to Bob.

"The shower's in there," he pointed down the hallway, before leaving the boy alone.

-

"They just left him!" Frank hollered at his mother.

"I know, Frank, I'm just as mad as you are." She took a sip of her coffee.

"But...I don't get it! How could they do that? He's from _Chicago_ , and they left him in _Italy_?!"

Linda nodded. 

"We're keeping him, right?"

Linda almost choked. "What?"

"You can't be seriously thinking of handing him over to the authorities mom-"

Frank was cut off by a grunt behind him. Bob was standing in the door way of the living room, his hair wet and the sweat pants Frank had given him barely reaching to his ankles.

He was shaking his head at Linda, a sad look on his face.

Linda pulled herself to her feet from her arm chair, and walked over.

"Would you like to stay with me, Bob? And Frank?"

Bob looked over at Frank was watching him closely. He was shifting from foot to foot, anxiously.

"Mom knows what she's doing, Bob," Frank said seriously. "She helped me talk, and learn everything all over again by herself."

Bob nodded, before turning to look at Linda. He opened his mouth and tried to speak, but again, only throaty noises escaped.

"Will I take that as a yes?" Linda smiled.

Bob nodded, and allowed Linda to pull him into a hug. 

After Linda released him, Frank walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder. 

"I always wanted a brother," he smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
>  _Nessun problemo_ \- no problem  
>  _Che cosa?_ \- what?  
>  _Mordi e fuggi_ \- hit and run  
>  _Non sono sicuro_ \- I'm not sure  
>  _Sì_ \- yes  
>  _Bambini_ \- children  
>  _Capelli biondi_ \- fair hair
> 
> I think the translations are right...I'm a bit rusty on my Italian _and I really should have paid more attention to my papa when I was younger..._


End file.
